Slow Descent
by Denseforest
Summary: Hermione witnessed the brutal murder of her mother by the hands of Dark Wizards at the age of six, setting her on a path of revenge and destruction. Epic in length.


_Prologue_

* * *

_ I awake with a start drenched in cold sweat. I had that dream again, the one in which I watch my mothers' brutal destruction. I would think after reliving the same dream over and over again for the past few years that I would become desensitized to it. But yet, I have not been. It still coats every part of me with a blanketing dread and fills me with a searing anger still to this day. _

_ Who would have thought that watching your mother get horrifically destroyed in front of you would be so devastating to the mind?_

_ I glanced over to the other side of the room to see if I had awakened my roommate Marcene unintentionally. Sometimes while reliving that horrific memory, I thrash about and shout. Which, understandably, annoys Marcene greatly. She loves her sleep after all and gets very upset when it is disturbed. But tonight must not have been one of those nights as Marcene was still soundly asleep judging by the rhythmic, soft snoring that was emanating from her. _

_ I breathed a sigh of relief—I did not enjoy getting hit after all._

_ Sleep would not welcome me again that night. The thought of reliving that memory again drove its sweet embrace away. So with little choice, I decided to forego it—I was used to being tired anyway. I looked over at the clock on the wall to check the time. 3:06 AM. My foster parents would not be up yet for another three hours and Marcene and I would not be expected to be up for another hour after that to get ready for school. Perfect amount of time to do some practicing in peace. If I wanted to, that is. But I knew I wanted to, because I always wanted to. Because practicing meant I would be one step closer to discovering their secrets. _

_ And eventually killing them all. _

_ I swiveled my legs to the side of the bed and set my feet onto the cool wood as gently as possible. Luckily, the floorboard did not betray my location to the world, but I knew it wouldn't, because I knew which floorboards would. And knowing which floorboards would betray me, I zigzagged across the floor until I reached the door that led out into the hallway. _

_ At the door, I turned the handle and opened it barely enough for me to squeeze through. If I opened the door up too much, it would let out a squeak so loud that it sounded like a car alarm. I learned that fun tidbit one other time I was trying to sneak out and I got an enthusiastic beating from Marcene and a strong reprimand from my foster parents._

_ Moonlight cascaded into the hallway through uncloaked windows, lighting up the flecks of dust that floated without care down its length and turning them into glittering jewels. My fingers trailed along the wall, dancing with the dust, as I made my way down towards the kitchen. Every once in a while, my eyes would linger upon pictures I have seen thousands of times. Captured memories of happy moments, none of which I am in nor would I ever want to be in—this wasn't my family after all. _

_ My family was murdered._

_ The smells of citrus and days old coffee cake welcomed me as I entered the kitchen. Though my mouth watered at such delectable smells, I ignored them and made my way to the sliding glass door that led out into the backyard and from there, the woods. I slipped my battered shoes on with a quiet grunt, using the glass pane to hold myself steady while doing so. Looking out into the backyard, it was dark everywhere as trees within the yard and from the surrounding forest blocked most of the light from the moon from reaching the ground. Though most people would be frightened venturing into such frightening conditions, I was not. I enjoyed the darkness—it made it easier to sneak out to train. _

_ I removed the board that Mr. Griffith places inside the doors' track every night—an effort to stop a break-in should one be attempted. Board removed, I opened the patio door as gently as possible, and with every inch of the door that was opened, more and more of the warm, early Summer air tickled me. I could not help but smile at feeling such a feeling. A feeling charged with so much charm and nostalgia._

_ My feet pummeled the grass as I made my way to the edge of the yard. My body warmed with the breath of the world as I quietly ran towards the edge. I did a quick turnaround to make sure no one was watching me before I entered the forest—after all, I did not want to reveal my secret place. Satisfied that no one was watching me, I ventured into the forest that has acted as my second home over these last few months. _

* * *

_ I was quick to find the small fort that I had constructed out of branches and twigs and mud months prior. My secret place. After a moment, I pulled back the blanket that I had 'borrowed' from the basement that acted as the door and made my way in. _

_ Within a minute, I had the lantern that I also 'borrowed' from the basement turned on and light was returned to the world around me. A sense of calm washed over me as the light blanketed over me and I gently sunk towards the moist ground. I was sure my shorts would get muddied, but I did not care. I sat still like that for a few minutes, enjoying the serene feeling that was flowing through me, before reaching over to the wall and grabbing one of the many shoe boxes that lined it. _

_ While all the shoe boxes held precious items, the old battered black Converse box in my hands meant the most to me. Because it held my most precious item._

_ The only photo that I had of my mother. _

_ When the murderers were finished with my mother, they set my home a flame. I would have perished and been burnt to a crisp within its walls had it not been for my neighbor who rushed in to save us. Well, me after he realized my mother was gone. Everything was burned to ash during the fires' red, hot rage. Everything, including my mothers' body. I was left with nothing to remember her by besides the picture held in my hand which I only had thanks to her obituary. _

_ I rubbed my fingers over the fading picture of my mother, noting her various features, cementing them into my memory again and again out of habit. Her unruly hazelnut hair that matched my own, her eyes, as brown as the finest chocolates, and only slightly darker than mine. She had a slim straight nose and small dainty ears that stuck close to her head as if to shield her. Those did not match my own. I imagined I got those features from my father, whomever he may be. _

_ I wiped my eyes and placed the photo back into the box as gently as possible and set it back against the wall. I then picked up the box that sat next to it, my second most important box. An orange Nike box that was caked in mud. Inside the box was the key to my revenge, what I saw the murders use, and what I would use to murder them all. _

_ Everyone thought I was crazy when I told them the story of the killing of my mother. Everyone thought I was just using the story as a way to hide from the truth. To run away from something that no one could truly fathom. But, I wasn't. I knew what the truth was—I wasn't running from it nor hiding from it. What I said was true. I know what they were, and I know what they used to kill my mother and burn down my home. Destroying everything I had ever known. _

_ They were wizards and they used wands._

_ And within the box was the very wand that I would use to kill them all. _


End file.
